You’re a detective—start acting like it.
He settled back and refocused. Something had been burning in Decker’s gut for a long time now and he’d really done nothing about it. He had, instead, just followed blithely along a traditional investigative path.
Okay, let’s go blank slate, square one. First rule, you don’t trust anybody. Second related rule, you suspect everybody until something comes along to definitively remove that suspicion.
He truly believed that the key to this whole thing had not started a week ago, or a month ago, or even a year ago. The bunker piece might have dated from then because up until that point, Ben Purdy could not have known that some of the deadliest substances on earth were buried in the North Dakota soil. But something really important to the current case had started even before that.
As he focused on certain possibilities, Decker’s memory file popped down from his cloud and settled front and center in his thoughts. In this memory, he saw the woman walk to the stairs and head up.
Decker grabbed his jacket and headed out.
Finally, finally, he might be getting somewhere.
* * *
The OK Corral Saloon was not yet open when Decker burst in.
Employees were unstacking chairs from the tops of tables and wiping down the walnut bar, counting glasses, sorting inventory, and unloading dishwashers.
“We don’t open until noon,” one of them said to Decker. “The door should have been locked.”
Decker strode forward, held up his FBI credentials, and said, “I need to go up there.” He pointed to the staircase that led to the second floor.
“You can’t,” said the man, who was in his twenties, scrawny, with pimply cheeks and a ragged goatee.
“Why not?”
“Because we’re closed, like I just told you!”
Decker stuck his creds right in the guy’s face. “This says otherwise.”
The man looked around at the others, who had stopped what they were doing and were staring at this face-off.
“Why?”
“Caroline Dawson keeps a room up there.”
“So?”
“So I need to see it. Now.”
“I have to call somebody.”
“The only personI’llbe calling will be the police, if you don’t let me up there.”
The guy’s Adam’s apple was bobbing up and down and he looked desperately around for some support from his fellow workers.
To a person, they all turned away from him and commenced performing their tasks again.
“Okay,” said the guy. “But you need a key.”
“Where is it?”
He grinned triumphantly. “Ms. Dawson keeps it.”
“No problem,” said Decker as he headed up the stairs.
“Hey!”